


Shatter Lines

by GhostHost



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Body Horror, Hurt/Comfort, More in fic, cuddle piles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-23 23:02:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9685991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostHost/pseuds/GhostHost
Summary: Tailgate’s latent talent, activated when Cyclonus was harmed, was not, in fact, super strength with some weird stuff thrown in. Instead, it was 100% weirdness, the kind that restored Cyclonus while knocked everyone’s memories back a few days,It also restored Whirl’s hands and face. He’s not taking it so well.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Lovingly edited by an IRL anon friend. Thank you friend! 
> 
> Warnings: Body dismorphia, General Whirlness, violence, general unwanted flirting--and if you'd like something up here that isn't listed please speak up!

Think you lost your mind  
Well don't worry about it  
Happens all the time  
In the morning you'll be better

-Better, OneRepublic

 

Whirl’s legs were normal. Long spindly things that could curb-stomp a motherfucker no problem.

His chassis didn’t feel different, but it had been reshaped a touch. Not quite as stuck out as it had been.

It was that difference he noticed first, because it ever so slightly affected his guns. He lay in his berth, half in recharge, trying to figure out what the hell his HUD was talking about.  Something about new mods...He reached a claw up to feel them, see if maybe something was stuck in them?-and it was the act of doing so that tipped him off.

His claws felt weird. Like they were smaller. And split into parts. Five parts.

He held them up, wiggled said parts.

Parts that were fingers. Most _definitely_ fingers.

The second it clicked Whirl was off the berth. He nearly fell he was moving so frantically, trying to get to the small mirror he used to work chronometers with. It was the only one he’d allowed in his room. No one wanted to stare at his ugly mug after all-including him.

But leaning over it now, he realized with horror, was not his ugly mug. It was a face.

His _old_ face.

He couldn’t comm Ratchet fast enough.

xXx

 

“What do you mean you can’t fix it!?” And thank fuck, his vocalizer hadn't been changed. He didn’t know if he could handle that on top of everything else. Whirl was both terrified of and unable to pull himself away from a mirror every time he saw one, to stare at the tan face and two- _two!_ -yellow optics. Of course staring at anything was weird because he was now getting an optical feed from both optics rather than just one and his depth perception had increased. He’d lost the ability to zoom in on things but had gained a mouth. A mouth with a glossa that felt weird as hell considering he hadn’t had one in a good couple of centuries.

Nevermind _the hands._

“Empurata wasn’t something that was taught in your average med class.” Ratchet said crossly. “It was something held very close by the Functionalists. I never learned how to do it. Frankly I didn’t want too. Even if I had, it’s a risky procedure, Whirl. The survival rates were low even when trained technicians were involved.” The grumpiness faded a bit, as the medic seemed to realize now wasn’t the best time for a lecture on the morals and ethics.  He turned to damage control instead, as he always did. “Your hands I could probably do something with.” He said quickly, simply to stop Whirl from yelling obscenities again, doing yet another slow scan of the ‘Copter. “But  I can’t promise that I can give you the claws back-not as they were. Your bodies changed too much for it. Reverting claws into hands is much easier than doing the opposite and we don’t really have the materials for it.”

Whirl heard it all, not that he wanted too. This was actually the third attempt at this conversation-Whirl had been too freaked the first time to make much sense and Ratchet had to stop and threaten to knock him out the second try, after the medic reached the bit about not being able to revert him back.

Didn’t mean Whirl liked it any.

“I just don’t understand how this even happened,” He said, the panic coming back with a tidal wave of denial. “This has to be a dream right? Like I got clocked funny in the last battle and I’m in a coma? If I am and you can hear me-the real you-then I need you to listen closely.” He invaded Ratchet’s space, optics wide, field a mess. “Kill me. _Kiiiiiill_ me. Do you understand!? Killl-!”

“Whirl.” Ratchet laid a hand on his shoulder, an automatic comfort gesture. One he wouldn’t have made had Whirl not clearly been so frantic, one Whirl would have never accepted if his world hadn’t just crashed down. “You are _not_ in a coma.” He said it firmly, because it was the fourth time Whirl had attempted to take that out and Ratchet wanted any and all grand delusions squashed immediately.  “You are also not the only person affected with something like this right now.” Just the worst case Ratchet had, not that he was going to voice that. “Unfortunately we’ve had a few other incidents, all apparently related to Tailgate’s little light show. I will do the best I can, but I cannot guarantee anything without more research first.”

Of course Whirl picked out about four words and chose to focus on them. “Tailgate’s _what?_!”

Ratchet sighed. His fault, for even mentioning that.  “Light show. Seems that something happened-what exactly, no one knows, and Tailgate’s talent activated. He’s wiped everyone's memory back a few days. With the sole exception of a few, and those few claimed his power manifested as a blast of light. There’s been a number of small to large changes throughout the ship-and crew.”

Whirl didn’t care about any of that. His selective hearing was in high gear and he only heard the part about Tailgate’s talent causing it _._ Because if that’s all this was, some weird _Lost Light_ BS, then that meant there was a possibility that he could be _changed back_.

“Where is he!?” Whirl demanded, his attention now completely focused on the pure possibility that this could get fixed. That he could go back to normal.

That no would would have to see him like he was now, that he wouldn’t have to get blasted by memories every time he saw his own reflection.

“I have no idea.” Ratchet sighed. “He hasn’t been successful in activating his talent again though. I doubt he can do anything for you.”

Whirl almost cursed him-certainly did so in his helm, both for knowing exactly why Whirl wanted to see the minibot and being so calm about this whole thing. He was still scrambling to retort when Ratchet cleared his intake and continued talking.

“I can call Rung, if you’d like.” The medic said it carefully, trying to avoid adding to the pool of panic the ‘Copter seemed to exist in.  “I know you were...opposed, to being reverted into a normal state,  the first time we talked before we launched this-” He stopped himself being saying ‘farce of a mission’, recovering with; “-journey. He might be good to talk to right now.”

Whirl’s didn’t even have to answer, his thoughts on that was plain on his face. Hyper-emotive, a mech who clearly had no real control or learning over his own reaction.

That was the weirdest thing of all of this. Being able to read Whirl.  He’d always been hard to predict, hard to figure out and here Ratchet could practically read his mind, his face was so open. He hoped Whirl hadn’t realized that yet, if only for the ‘Copter’s state of health.

“No he can’t see me like this!” Whirl protested, shaking his head wildly. “No one can see me like this!” His vents nearly stalled with his panic, but he backed away before Ratchet could try and calm him down again.

“I have to go talk to ‘Gate. There’s got to be a way to turn me back!” And he was off like a shot, tearing through the Lost Light and desperately hoping that if anyone saw him they didn’t recognize him.

Ratchet didn’t chase him-but he _did_ comm Rung.

This was absolutely going to end up requiring the therapist. Even if Whirl refused his services, Ratchet could think of a few other mechs who’d need someone to talk to over the whole mess.

Including him.

xXx

 

“How do you feel?”

“As though I got stabbed. Repeatedly.” Cyclonus grumbled. According to Tailgate he had been. Or shot, rather. But he was healed now-because of the minibot.

Completely, fully healed. As if the idea of a latent talent wasn’t processor bending enough, one that packed such power certainly was. It also changed things-for both of them. Because mechs wouldn’t leave Tailgate alone, now. He was no longer simply a naive bot with no real purpose. A person to overlook. Now people would come after him, hoping to use him, all in the name of a war they were all pretending was over.

Not that anyone would succeed of course-not so long as Cyclonus still lived. It did mean he would have to be more vigilant-they both would-and to start doing so they would need to confront some things. Things like why Tailgate was going to Getaway-things like why he was trying so hard to impress Cyclonus.

Not that either of them needed to guess. They both knew _why._ But Cyclonus had been the one to cut off talks that edged toward friendship let alone deeper feelings, and he would have to be the one to bring it up now. It was something he regretted, had regretted. Something he would take responsibility for.  He took a vent, planning on doing just that-and was promptly interrupted by a series of bangs and a mech opening-and crashing through- their door.

Not many had the codes to activate it themselves and Cyclonus was up in an instant. Latent talent or no, Tailgate couldn’t control his abilities and Cyclonus _could_ control his weapons. He would always be the first line of defense. The door closed behind the intruder, two piercing yellow optics glowing in the dim lights.

He didn’t recognize the bot right away-but Tailgate did.

“Whirl?” The minibot asked, peeking around the taller, tense mech. “You have a face!”

“Because of you!” Was the shrieked reply. Cyclonus blinked as the bots field engulfed him in a mixture of fury, sheer panic and anxiety- and yes, it was identifiably, Whirls.

“I gave you a face?” Tailgate hopped off the berth they’d been sitting on to get a closer look. Out of his own shock, Cyclonus let him. “Oh wow, and hands!”

“Yes, now _change it back!_ ” Whirl was howling, optics popped wide and two inches from a full blown breakdown. Cyclonus caught the back of Tailgate’s hood, holding him in place before he could bumble into danger.

“Calm down.” Cyclonus all-but ordered, trying not to show how struck he was by the ‘copters changes. The last thing Whirl needed was to realize Cyclonus himself was rather surprised-Whirl often came to himself better when others around him were calm. It wasn’t a sure thing and certainly not one when he was this riled-but then “riled” and “fearful” were two entirely different things.

It said a lot about Whirl’s emotional state that Cyclonus could teek that he was fearful.

Nevermind being able to read it plainly on his face.

“Do you see this!?” Whirl gestured to his face with a perfectly formed hand. “You can’t tell me to be calm when you can SEE this!”

“The only thing I see if that you’re really pretty.” Tailgate said, with that accidental kind of thoughtlessness that came only from lack of experience. He seemed to realize it a second later, and stumbled over words in a rush to soothe Whirl. “Not that you weren’t before ‘cause you were! This is just a different kind of pretty!”

The comment froze Whirl, seeming to cut through the whirlwind of emotions.“I-what!?” He exclaimed,  optics whipping from Cyclonus to Tailgate.

Sensing an easy way to redirect the ‘Copter, Cyclonus followed Tailgate right over the conversational cliff. “Your new features do strike a rather handsome profile.” It was deadpanned, in a voice that betrayed no emotion, and the puzzle of deciphering how Cyclonus intended that comment (along with processing it) was the distraction Whirl needed.

He gaped at the both of them-another oddity-rattling plating finally settling into place. He stood in the center of their hab, shocked into silence.

Cyclonus used it to place Tailgate back slightly behind him. The implications hadn’t been lost on him-Whirl had said Tailgate had restored him. If true, he had likely done it with his talent, at the same time he’d healed Cyclonus. He appeared to have affected several members of the crew in similar situations-including healing and waking Thunderclash-but Whirl was certainly the most dramatic change the jet had encountered thus far.

A change which potentially put Tailgate in danger, if Whirl choose to blame the minibot.

“I-” Still struck dumb, Whirl’s chest slowly stopped heaving, his vents catching up to a normal rate. “I-” Repeated again, clearly trying to grasp for words.

Cyclonus was halfway to formulating a plan to defuse him the rest of the way when an announcement from the ship dropped Whirl.

It was a typical one, served by Trailbreaker asking for everyone to remain calm and that they’d have an assembly later that day. The speakers had a bit of feedback to them-Cyclonus understood almost immediately that it was that feedback that was hurting Whirl. Likely his -new?- audios were not set properly, and thus overly sensitive.

“Stay.” he said to Tailgate, in his best Obey Now voice. Tailgate didn’t often, but he usually knew the difference between Cyclonus being, well,   _himself_ and being serious.

Not something Cyclonus liked to admit, because it meant the minibot had grown far closer than he’d realized.

“Ow.” Whirl said, face on the floor.  “Owowow.”

Cyclonus knelt next to him, one hand going to help press against the audio on the side nearest him, Pressure helped remarkably for things like this.

“If you sit up I can guide you through correcting their input and output data.” He said it in an even voice, making sure the tone wouldn’t further injure the ‘copter. “It will prevent that from happening again.”

“‘Kay.” Whirl remarkably subdued. No doubt the pain had shocked him out of his turbulent emotional response-something Cyclonus would take ruthless advantage of.

Correcting Whirl’s audios only took a few moments, and from there Cyclonus was able to successfully bully the ‘Copter onto the nearest berth. His and Tailgates were still separated, but his was often where they both ended up charging and his was the one Whirl’s aft landed on.

Tailgate was back on it in a flash, balancing on his knees to better reach Whirl’s face. Cyclonus shot him a warning look, but the minibot didn’t touch-instead his hands went to the much safer neutral zone of the ‘copters shoulders. His field flashed out, tasting, and immediately after teeking Whirl’s upset, he transitioned into a hug.

“I’m so sorry.” The minibot nuzzled his helm under Whirl’s-a familiar gesture to both of them. Or at least, newly familiar. “I didn’t mean to do this..”

Whirl said nothing. Cyclonus remained tense and for a moment the minibot was worried all the work they had done, all the ground they had covered with Whirl was gone. Blown away by something he’d never meant to do, something he wasn’t sure he could fix. But as always, Whirl’s actions didn’t go in the direction Tailgate anticipated as the ‘copter lightly nudged back at Tailgate’s helm with his own. His newly formed face made it a little weird-not that Tailgate cared.

He hid the relief in his field. Focused on trying to _apologize._

Tailgate would do anything not to destroy the thing building between the three of them. Had been going to Getaway for that exact reason-not that Getaway ever picked up on the part Whirl played in all of it. Tailgate had never corrected him, purely because he wanted the  unspoken thing between himself and Cyclonus straightened out before he attempted to clear the equally unspoken thing the two of them and Whirl.

He’d had the odd feeling Getaway wouldn’t have understood anyway.

Cyclonus took a seat at the edge of the berth, sitting on Whirl’s other side. “Have you spoken to Ratchet?” He asked quietly. He didn’t try to touch, instead letting his smaller counterpart make the first attempts.

“Yeah.” Whirl said dully, after a quiet moment. He laid a cheek against the top of Tailgate’s helm, optics slowly dimming. He’d apparently been riding high on his outburst--now that it was gone, his energy was gone. With it was the violent fury hiding how stressed he was-a ragged mess of a mech.

Cyclonus waited a moment to see if he’d be more forthcoming and was entirely unsurprised when he wasn’t. “I assume he was unable to repair you.” It wasn’t a question so much as it was a clarification and Whirl confirmed it when he snorted a minute later.

“Empurata’s apparently not taught outside of Functionalist torture schools.” The words were so weird without the usual vitriol and fire spitting behind them-let alone seeing an accompanying expression. Tailgate hugged him a little harder, processor scrambling for a way to _fix it._

“I’m _so_ sorry.” The minibot repeated. “We’ll do everything we can to fix it, promise!”

Whirl clutched the minibot to his chest, waiting a moment before he answered. “I know.” He said, because he knew Tailgate’s sincerity when he heard it.  The knowledge didn’t stop the despair that flooded him, but it eased the horror a touch.

He still had Tailgate and Cyclonus’s support.

He hadn’t been sure he would. Hadn’t been sure they’d even understand why he was so upset. Whirl had underestimated them-not for the first time-and was utterly relieved for it.

Cyclonus let Tailgate be in charge of comforting their downed warrior, allowing the minibot to soothe Whirl before he attempted to his own approach. He didn’t rush it. Let Tailgate talk, and promise help over and over again. Let Whirl settle a bit, calm himself until the situation felt a bit more familiar. It took a good hour, but Cyclonus was patient.

When Whirl’s field evened out a touch, the jet made his move.  

Gently, he laid a hand on Whirl’s hip-another neutral zone-to see if it would be welcomed. When the ‘copter did nothing to remove it Cyclonus inched closer, letting his field rest against-and soothe-Whirl’s ragged one.

Slowly he transitioned to align himself with Whirl’s back, while Tailgate practically fell in his lap. The goal was to surround the ‘copter, with their bodies and fields, as they had done a few times before. Whirl didn’t always allow it, didn’t like to admit it happened when he did, but it helped.

Cyclonus could only hope it would help now.

They got to the two minute mark before Whirl began with his token protests. A sign if any of how bad off he was.

“What’s with the soft shit?” Whirl snarled, engine giving a half hearted rev, helm resting against Tailgate’s. “‘M not fragile.”

“You?” Cyclonus said in a quiet mutter. “Never.” He was careful of how he said it-tried to communicate with his field that he was not mocking or trying to make light of the situation. Whirl _was_ vulnerable currently, but Cyclonus never really saw him that way.

Even now, emotionally destroyed with lap full of concerned minibot.  

“Good. Don’t forget it.” Whirl grumped but he was tired, his day emotionally draining and testing him in a way he had not been in many a century. He slumped against Cyclonus suddenly-dropping all his weight onto purple shoulders that would have toppled most mechs.

Most mechs, who were not used to Whirl’s antics and being abruptly used as a recharge berth. Cyclonus did not move an inch.

“Tailgate is correct. We will do all we can to help you.” He murmured in the Copter’s audio as he moved to rest his head against Whirl’s, cheek-to-cheek.

“You better.” Grumbled Whirl back, but he shuddered while he said it.

They all knew how many people had made promises to the former Wrecker and failed to follow through. Cyclonus didn’t know how far Whirl’s trust in them went, but there was something there, something that kept him in this room, allowed them to comfort him.

He just hoped it was enough to see them all through this.

xXx

 

“People are gonna _talk.”_ Whirl muttered the next morning. It was early, far earlier than any of them needed to be up. Not that they were keeping their usual duties. Cyclonus knew for certain he and Tailgate had been placed on medical leave, and didn’t need to check the roster to know Whirl had been as well. Everyone needed time to process.

“People will fuss irregardless. You might as well control the when and how.” His voice was low, just on this side of what he’d consider soothing but most everyone else would consider blunt.  “Your reputation will recover.” Which wasn’t exactly what Whirl was worried about, but it was an easy way to keep Whirl talking about it without him closing off.

The ‘copter went for it. “Cyclonus,” Whirl grumbled, a flash of dramatics showing through, “I’ve had enough shocks this week. I can do without you becoming psychic.”

“I am not psychic.” The warrior responded. “I am simply experienced.”

Whirl took a hard vent-through his mouth _. Like a human_ he thought with mild disgust. Not that he had anything on humans, just that the act was so-so foreign.

“You gonna tell me what it is that caused you to be experienced in something like this?”

“I can if you’d like.” And he would. He’d share bits of himself if it made Whirl feel better. Things that had happened that he had never given a voice too. Cyclonus  would only do so if Whirl wanted, would be open to hearing it--and he knew Whirl understood his words as they offer they were.

Whirl thought it over. “Nah.” He said, finally. “Just-tell me this isn’-tell me this is gonna be okay, instead.” It was a weird thing to ask for but Whirl was in a weird mood. Later he’d kick himself for being so vulnerable, so _open_ , but it’d stopped really being an issue with Cyclonus. At least now, anyway, after he’d had more than his fair share of breakdowns in front of the mech. Let alone the current, mega-meltdown.

“It won’t feel okay.” Cyclonus said after a moment. “You won’t be happy, for a while. But you will get used to it. Get over it, and eventually regain your happiness once more.” If that was what Whirl wanted. They both knew that the option to regain that happiness was up to Whirl--and clearly Whirl was reluctant to take that path. Seeking revenge seemed to be more his style.

Which was why it felt important to add; “We will be with you for all of it. Tailgate and I aren’t going anywhere.”

It was about as affectionate as Cyclonus got and Whirl was oddly grateful for it. He really, really was not in the mood to be coddled.

They let the conversation drop. Tailgate was fast asleep between them still-they had been careful not to wake him while talking. Whirl wasn’t sure when the minibot had managed to worm his way into the middle but it was his preferred way to sleep, and the ex-Wrecker hadn’t been concerned about being kicked out of the middle.  They’d only done this a handful of times too-recharged together, and typically only after either Whirl or Tailgate had gone a little too hard at the bar.

Once-and only once-they had done it after a battle, when both Whirl and Cyclonus had been injured.

That had been--odd though. Odd like it was odd now, in a way that felt serious rather than playful or funny or excusable.

Whirl turned it over, this weirdness, and decided he didn’t care. If anybody asked he’d claimed he’d been hogging Tailgate to himself in order to make the small mech fix him first-a thought that did an excellent job of reminding him that he absolutely was not going to be leaving their hab anyway because _no one was going to see him like this._

And if Cyclonus and Tailgate decided they didn’t like it, well tough. They could fix him first before they threw him out.

Comforted by his new excuses, painfully aware they were just that, Whirl let himself fall back in recharge.

Cyclonus stayed online, unmoving, watching. The weirdness got to him too, but unlike Whirl he was prepared for it.

It was time to face things as they were. Get things straightened out. Figure out what they wanted.

Cyclonus knew what _he_ wanted. He thought he knew what Tailgate wanted as well. Whirl was the odd mech out--unpredictable as always, but then Cyclonus thought in this at least, he understood him. Admitting attraction was an exploitable weakness. To actively take on a lover, to make that attraction into a known quantity was to paint a target and Cyclonus had never thought it worth it--before. Before Tailgate wormed his way past all the defenses. Before Whirl’s snark and sarcasm became amusing rather than aggravating.

Cyclonus was old. He had lived for a long, experienced more than his fair share. He couldn’t deny to himself that he wanted this. It was a change, but it was a positive one--and wasn’t it time he did things for himself, anyway?  And if he wanted it well…

It wasn’t that big of a jump to think that Whirl might too.

They’d have to go slow, but then Cyclonus thought he and Tailgate had always known that. Known it in the way they had known what they were doing, even without ever speaking their intentions aloud.

The last thing either of them wanted to do, was chase Whirl off.

So they protected him instead, even if they refused to acknowledge that was what they were doing. The day was coming for them _all_ to talk.

They just had to be patient.   


xXx

 

It had been roughly three weeks-(based on the human calendar Swerve insisted on using for all bar related activities) and Whirl was doing poorly.

Tailgate had fared no better, doing his best to attempt to fix his friend, among the other things he’d changed. He hadn’t managed to tap into his talent at all-and Cyclonus had put his pede down once the minibot started resorting to more dangerous methods to try and reach it.

It didn’t matter what circumstances enabled him to use it the first time round, there was no excuse for him to physically place himself in danger. There wasn’t a time limit on tapping into it-even if Whirl seemed to think their was.

But Cyclonus knew how to handle Whirl.

“They keep touching me.” Whirl said in a low voice, expressive face horrified. He was pacing about in the habsuit that was Cyclonus and Tailgates, but might as well have been in his own. Since the incident he’d practically moved in.  “Hitting on me-no one hit on me before. They didn’t _tolerate_ me like that before!”  

“You have learned one of the great secrets of the universe.” Cyclonus deadpanned, doing his best to give Whirl’s latest face-related issue his full attention. “People actually do judge stories by the datapad they’re on.”

“It’s okay if we touch you though--right?” Tailgate asked, sounding worried. Whirl felt bad for it for a brief minute-but it didn’t last long. Not with how weirded out he was.

Whirl blew out a frustrated vent, shaking his head. “It’s not--they’re not touching me like you guys do.”

Tailgate’s touch had always been innocent, without malice or the intent to make fun of him for it. Cyclonus’s had been been professional until the ice had melted a bit into something like friendship. It had stayed like that until Whirl had invited more-and it had been Whirl. Tailgate might have flirted and Cyclonus might have indicated his interest, but Whirl had been the one to initiate physical contact. He’d led it most the way in fact.

He was starting to realize that might have been done on purpose.

Their touch was respectful. Slow. Careful and meaningful. Not, drunk, disorderly and overly friendly. Not shocked, or just--different. Whirl had been forced out into the open after the first week and despite his atrocious temper, people _wouldn’t leave him alone_. The scariest part of Whirl’s transition hadn’t been facing his own demons, it was the knowledge that others suddenly saw him. Suddenly wanted to interact with him-just plain wanted him when they never had before.

How they now saw him as a person instead of an annoyance.

His whole life, Whirl had done his best to reveal the injustices done to him. The moral bankruptcy and hypocrisy. Tried to fight against this idea that people should move on, should forget because to forget, to let go, was to let it happen again. To let it happen to others.

He was fragged in the head. Everyone knew that. But he wanted to make them know why. Wanted the reasons to be clear as day, make it clear it wasn’t his fault he was like this. There were other reasons too, but at the core of his hundreds of issues, he wanted to push his mission of vengeful anger.

The thoughts ran rampant in his - _fixed-_ helm, the very idea of people suddenly just giving him the things he’d longed for-acceptance, camaraderie-just because he looked different making him want to purge. To scream and shout and _rage._

It burned, this false shit. How easily he was forgiven now. How people laughed and brushed him off, how people told him how they had always admired him, but were too scared to tell him.

Scared of what? Him? Why would a change of face make him any less terrifying?

Whirl knew the answer to that though. It was because he was _attractive_ now.

He hadn’t voiced any of this, hadn’t said much at all. His pacing had picked up to a near frenzy and when he couldn’t take it anymore, the memories of how people in the bar treated him, the idiot mech who’d bought him a drink and winked when he got it, made him spin, punch the nearest wall as hard as he could. His vents panted, steam rolling off his armor.  It was clamped close to him, his guns onlining themselves with a whirr.

“You can hit me if you like.” Tailgate said in a small voice, hunched on the berth. “I don’t really dent anymore.”

“No.” Cyclonus and Whirl spoke as one.

“Jus’ thought it’d help.” Tailgate mumbled. “Ya’know, hitting a person instead of a wall.”

Cyclonus turned the thought over, before conceding the point to his smaller partner. Tailgate was right.

Whirl _would_ feel better hitting a person.

He unlatched his great sword,  peeling off his spot near the window to place it next to Tailgate. He approached the blue mech, careful to note how Whirl tensed as he approached. They’d made a lot of progress in three weeks, towards making the three of them a normal thing-but none of them knew how it all worked yet. Not with all three of them involved. He and Tailgate had had their conversation, after a numerous amount of high grade on Cyclonus’s end. Had started a sweetly tentative relationship. They hadn’t intended to go public with it but had anyway, because too many people were too observant for them to hide it.

They had done a lot to make sure Whirl’s interaction with them hadn’t been awkward in that timeframe, but the ‘copter was often too distracted with his own issues to notice much. Or at least, expanded too much energy to question why Tailgate and Cyclonus still orbited around him. He avoided the topic of their coupling entirely, and neither of them wanted to bring it up for fear of accidently driving a wedge.

“I agree with Tailgate.” He stepped up, into the clear safe offered when they’d moved and connected the two berths together in the corner. “If you can do so without drawing energon, we can grapple.” It was both a challenge and an offer, curtailed to appeal to Whirl.

Whirl paused, appeared to think it over (and wasn’t that an improvement, when a few months ago he’d have accepted blindly and torn into Cyclonus’s lines anyway.).

“Crumbled armor okay?” He asked gruffly, already squaring himself into a fighter’s stance.

“If you keep it minimal.” Cyclonus responded, body mirroring him.

“You reffing, ‘Gate?” Whirl asked, though his gaze never moved from Cyclonus.

“Of course!” Tailgate perked right back up, inching to the edge of the recharge slab. He’d “reffed” a few of their fights before, which mostly involved him cheering both  of them on, making sound effects, and calling out moves as though he were an announcer. Not a whole lot of calling rules in the mix.

That was fine. It was how they all liked it.

Whirl still had that mad look about him--Cyclonus hoped to bring him back fully through this. It was always a toss up if a fight would calm him or infuriate further.

The two larger mechs stared each other down for a moment, before rushing each other at nearly the same time.

Cyclonus didn’t go easy on him.

Whirl was downed fairly quickly. He wasn’t used to hands, wasn’t used to his face telegraphing his movements. He needed to learn though. To relearn and regain what he’d lost. He was still formidable-if anything he was swinging more wildly to the berserker side he often flirted with inside himself, letting his anger carry him through his loss of control. It made this more dangerous but Cyclonus trusted in his own abilities to keep things safe.

Tailgate cheered them on, naming random moves and pretending to keep score. Neither of the fighters heard him, not really. Not until Whirl was unable to continue, physically exhausted and damaged slightly past the point Cyclonus was comfortable with.

He hadn’t expected Whirl to admit he was done, especially now that Cyclonus himself was showing signs of slowing down, of feeling his injuries, the the blue mech surprised him. He released his grip on the het, flopping back dramatically to the floor.

“I demand a rematch.” He said to the ceiling.

Cyclonus hid his smile. “I will give you one tomorrow.”

He rolled to his feet, checking himself over for injuries. When he was done, he offered his hand to Whirl. The ex-wrecker stared at it for a moment, before glancing away. Cyclonus kept it held out, kept the offer open and his instincts proved correct when Whirl took his hand. Allowed himself to be helped up.  From there it was a short walk to the berth--Whirl flopped onto that too, nearly knocking into Tailgate.

It was an easy transition to their current favored position--putting Whirl in the middle. Tailgate fussed over the both of them at first, all the while laughing and telling them their individual “high scores.” They got most of the dents out, Whirl even allowing Cyclonus to touch his face long enough to smooth out his antenna.  Whirl protested the whole time but it grew forced as they went, and by the time Tailgate had finished cleaning Whirl’s plating the ‘Copter had dropped into a depressive silence. His field was heavy, his optics unfocused.

Cyclonus shared a look over Whirl’s helm with Tailgate--they knew what this was. Whirl got like this a lot, when he was thinking it all over.

The jet pulled the ex-wrecker in close, Whirl’s back to his chest. Tailgate curled in his front, nuzzling under his chin. Their fields spread out, surrounding Whirl’s.  Cuddled in-between them, Whirl made a wounded noise.

This was a lot-made him face a lot. Take a look at how not-okay he was, and how he’d been that way for a while. Unlike all the prior times, something prompted him to speak.

“I feel like I have to get over it all now. What they’ve done-what’s happened. I feel like I’m supposed to move on but I _can’t.”_ He’d fought so hard against doing anything remotely like that in fact. Because losing your edge would make you weak. Losing your edge would get you caught by the Functionalists, forced into the Enforcers, then dropped into prison. Too many mechs wanted to see his spark sent to the pit to let it be unguarded now.

Primus the idea of even _trying_ scared him! Yet it was all he could think of every time he saw his face-and he did see it, despite all attempts not too. How his whole history, the horrible things people had done to him, the way people treated him, all erased in one quick minute.

“Then don’t.” Cyclonus murmured, as if he had a clue of what Whirl was talking about. “No one will pressure you into doing so.”

“I can’t handle this.” That admittance hurt, more than anything and it was quietly choked out, the words stuck in Whirl’s vocalizer.

“It’s okay,” Tailgate said, sounding painfully sincere. “We’ll help you.”

They kept saying that--and worse, they seemed to mean it. Whirl didn’t know if he could handle that either, but the thought of doing all this without them was far more painful.

“Whatever..” He muttered-but tucked himself in closer. Because if he had them, things might-just barely-be okay. Go okay.

Trusting them was almost harder than giving the anger up-and in the same vent, a million times easier.

But it was worth a shot.   


xXx

 

Two months, some basic improvements on Tailgate’s talent and zero headway on Whirl’s problem-- and it was time.

“We’d like to talk.”

“‘Bout?”

“Us.”

“What about us?” Whirl said it playfully but both mechs saw him freeze. Cyclonus glanced down at his almost-conjux, was unsurprised to see his own expression reflected on white faceplates. They both knew they’d have to proceed carefully from here.

Their caution would be worth it, if it all went to plan.

“Yes. Tailgate and I have been...outlining our relationship since the incident.” Since Getaway, really, but Cyclonus didn’t need to air that piece. Whirl already knew. “We thought it would be good timing to discuss it with you as well.”

“What’s there to discuss?” Whirl said, and they both recognized the move for the defense that it was.

“You don’t have to change anything.” Tailgate  was quick to reassure, his chubby fingers beginning to poke at one another nervously. “We-Cyclonus and I-just thought it’d be a good idea to, um,” He glanced at Cyclonus, clearly asking for help.

The  jet obliged. “It is a good idea to seek clarification and speak aloud what our intentions are.”

“Intentions? Clarification? The frag are you both on-”

“We really like you.” Tailgate said, stepping forward and cutting Whirl off before he could get started on a tangent (one he’d no doubt hold onto, to avoid having this conversation. Possibly for forever if he had too.) “A lot. Um, or well,” He cut another look at Cyclonus, “I do anyway, I shouldn’t speak for Cyclonus, but I know he likes you to and--” He saw Whirl’s look of disbelief, amplified three fold by the fact he actually had a face to express it with. “--we wanted to do this before but I kinda messed things up.”

“Your current condition has no effect on this conversation.” Cyclonus added, because he knew that was just where Whirl’s mind was going. “I had intended to discuss this before Tailgate’s powers awakened. If you regained your old body tomorrow we would still need to have it.”

“Are--you asking me out? Romantically? You both realize that’s a terrible idea right?” Whirl looked aghast at the very thought.

Tailgate deflated. Cyclonus put a hand on his shoulder, silently encouraging him not to give up. “And why would it be?”

“Are you _kidding!?_ You guys are perfect together!” Which was not the protest any of them actually expected-nor was it the one Whirl had planned to make. He said it though, and after an awkward, silent minute, decided to stand behind it. Why not, it wasn’t like his life could get any more fucked up. “The last thing you need is me to screw everything up.” Especially now, when he seemed to have lost all control of his emotions and a good number of his motor skills.

“No offense Whirl, but you’ve already done that.” Cyclonus and Whirl’s optics both popped at that bit, and Tailgate had the decency to look embarrassed, but braved on. “Not, like, fucked it up, but you’re already here with us. You’re _involved._ ”

Cyclonus let a small smile carve his face, proud of his boyfriend.

“I want you to look back on our past month together, at the time we’ve both spent with you and decide truly if that’s what you believe. At the end of the day the decision is your own and we will not pressure you-but we will also always welcome you. We just ask,” He placed a hand on Whirl’s shoulder, half surprised the ‘Copter didn’t flinch away and could only think of it was progress, “that you think it over.”

“I-.” Whirl started, finally after a long pause.

Because he could.

He truly did not believe himself to be suited to them-to their stupid, perfect relationship-but he also wasn’t suited to his face. Not anymore. Or his body-or...anything.

If it was all going to change, couldn’t this? If he was going to be forced into a new life, couldn’t he get something out of it?

Experience told him no but-

But he could think about it.

“I guess can.” He said finally. Because he could. “Think it over.”

He might even end up deciding it was a yes.


End file.
